


It Seems I Can't Let Go

by nu_breed



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin is oh so very Catholic and not at all gay, thank you very much. He doesn't fall in love with blokes, he just really likes having sex with them is all.  Denial is not just a river in Egypt, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Seems I Can't Let Go

Colin was thirteen the first time he fell in love. Her name was Aithne and she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, with a smile that never failed to cheer him up, no matter what foul mood he was in. His Ma said she'd never seen him so besotted, and when he looked at her she seemed... relieved. Happy. Like a huge weight had been lifted just by looking at the two of them together, and Colin thought it was really a bit weird that she was so invested, but maybe that's what all mothers were like: wanting their sons to be happy.

Aithne kissed him in the park behind her house after Mass, the two of them pressed up against a gnarled tree trunk. It wasn't comfortable, knots pressing into his back and Aithne's wet mouth on his. He'd never had someone else's tongue in his mouth before, and it wasn't at all what he had expected, certainly not what everyone at school made it sound like, like it was the best thing ever. Not that it was _bad_ , but it wasn't good either. It didn't make Colin feel much of anything at all.

They'd been together two months when Aithne's Da had gotten a job in London. They clung to each other and Aithne cried and Colin tried not to. When she kissed him, she tasted like salty-wet tears and it felt so desperate, so full of regret that he couldn't help but cry, too, and when she whispered "I love you", he wanted to say it back, but the words stuck in his throat, dry and thick like dirt.

He promised faithfully to write to her, but he never did. His Ma would ask him about it nearly every day, but there was always an excuse as to why he hadn't: too busy with homework, had to learn lines for drama club, had to do his readings for Mass and every variation thereof. He didn't know why he had been avoiding it, making contact, all he knew was that now she was gone he was even more confused than he had been before.

The only place he ever felt certain about anything was in church: the perfection of the virgin's face set in plaster, ever-serene, the perfect woman and mother, and he wondered whether he'd ever fall in love with someone like that: pure and pretty and unattainable.

When he told Father Michael about it, the priest laughed gently, tapped his leg and said: "You're only a young man, Colin. You have plenty of time to find the right girl, and you'll know when you do. God has it all planned out, y'know."

God has a plan for everyone, that's what they all said, but it wasn't until he turned fifteen and Sean Ryan and his family joined the congregation that Colin realised what God's plan was for him.

Sean was everything Colin wasn't: confident, outgoing and completely uninhibited. He was, as Colin's mother pointed out "a terrible influence" on him. He would pass Colin notes during Mass that said things like "Mary Margaret O'Reilly isn't wearing any knickers today, easy access!" and "Sermon's boring, let's go to the pub" and when Colin coughed to cover up his laughter, Sean would thump him on the back, and flash him that smug grin that always made Colin's belly do odd flips.

Sean had clearly been sent by God to test Colin, and it was a test he was failing.

On his 17th birthday, Sean convinced Colin to stay over while his parents were away in Portadown. The two of them raided Sean's Da's liquor cabinet and ended up lying on the living room carpet, drunk on whiskey and coke, and stoned on a spliff they pinched from the stash belonging to Sean's brother Patrick. Weed always made Colin feel skin-prickly and on-edge and completely out of control. The out of control was precisely why he never indulged, not after school on a Friday, or at Drama Club parties. It was dangerous, but Sean was the exception to the rule. Sean was always the exception to every rule.

"I think," Colin said, his words slurred and almost unrecognisable even to himself, "that you are every bit as bad as me Ma warned me you were."

"Really?"

Sean was grinning as he spoke, and it made his words come out slow and lazy. It made Colin want to reach over and touch Sean's mouth with his fingers, feel how soft and wet his lips were. Instead, he just pressed his face to Sean's and laughed, wet and open-mouthed against his cheek.

"Oh Colin Morgan," Sean whispered, turning to face Colin, his mouth resting on the corner of Colin's. "You're going to drag me straight down to hell, aren't ya?"

Colin wanted to protest, tell Sean that it wasn't him that was the sinner, that it was Sean who made him want to do all the things that his parents and Father Michael wouldn't approve of, but Sean's lips were on his and his hands were on Colin's waist, and Colin _wanted_ , and if this was God's plan for him, then he was well and truly fucked.

"You're thinking too much," Sean breathed against his mouth, "stop thinking. It doesn't have to mean..." But he didn't finish, just got a thigh in between Colin's and ground his hips down, kissed him, his hands pushing Colin down into the carpet. The kiss was wet and hard and desperate, Sean sucking on Colin's tongue. It felt to Colin like Sean was trying to taste every inch of his mouth, and it felt so good. This was what he'd been missing with Aithne, being held down and kissed so relentlessly that he could hardly breathe.

Colin didn't want softness and curves and sweetness, he wanted stubble and strong hands and sharp edges and hardness pressing into him and he came in his jeans with Sean's tongue in his mouth and his fingers digging into Colin's arms so hard he left bruises.

He brushed his teeth as soon as he got home, scrubbed away the taste of whiskey and marijuana and Sean. He had bruises on his neck and his collarbone and when his Da saw them he laughed and whispered, "You'd better not let your mother see those, Col. Who's the lucky girl, eh?" Colin just blushed and shrugged and tried to ignore the bitter taste at the back of his throat.

Colin tried to bring up what had happened the next time he went to Confession, but he panicked and before he knew it he was changing Sean's gender, telling Father he'd been "messing about" with a girl. Which of course was bad and wrong in the eyes of the church, but nowhere near as bad and wrong as the truth would have been. If he'd confessed that he'd kissed his best friend and gotten off and really enjoyed it. If he'd told Father that he wanted to do it again.

The beads of the rosary were cool and smooth between his fingers, but not as smooth as Sean's cock felt later when Colin took it into his mouth. He brushed his teeth afterwards, but he couldn't get rid of the taste of Sean on his tongue. Didn't know if he wanted to either.

Colin dreamt that night of being called out at Mass, held up to the congregation as an example of weakness and mortal sin. Sean kissed his cheek soft and almost chaste before throwing him to the ground and joining the rest of the altar boys as they kicked him mercilessly.

He didn't let Sean touch him again after that, and the last time they spoke at all was the day Colin left for Belfast. He found out six months later that Sean had married some girl he had met while holidaying in Limerick. Colin wondered if it really was that easy: meet a nice Catholic girl, get married, have kids, and forget how good it feels to be who you really are.

Colin dated girls all the way through Drama School, and it was easier than he thought it would be to fake it. To pretend that he got off on the kissing and the petting and the fucking, and if they noticed that his heart wasn't in it, they didn't let on. They didn't seem to notice the marks all over his body, or the way he moved after Friday nights out with "me mates."

They didn't know that Friday nights meant Colin on his knees in the backroom of whatever club he managed to find himself in, with rough hands in his hair and some nameless, faceless guy fucking his mouth, or pushing him to the wall and pushing into his arse with thick fingers. When he did it, it was so easy to pretend that he wasn't lying about who he was, because there was no love, no commitment, just purely getting off. He didn't kiss and he didn't go home with them and when he came, he always bit down on his lip to stop himself from making noise.

He always went to Confession the next day, and he always bent the truth so it was never as bad as the reality.

Colin isn't gay. Not really. He just likes to fuck guys is all, and he never, ever falls in love. Sometimes, he's so good at lying, he manages to even convince himself.

***

Within five minutes of meeting Bradley James, Colin thinks to himself, _you are going to be a problem_ , and unfortunately for Colin, his first impression is right.

Bradley is too loud, too charming, and when Colin tries to maintain some sort of professional distance, all it seems to do is make Bradley want to try even harder to make him break. Bradley is like a fucking steamroller, barging in and not seeming to notice (or care) that Colin isn't interested in being his new best friend. Colin doesn't need a new best friend who is blond and gorgeous and _male_ and is muscled in all the ways he really likes, with strong hands that could very easily hold him down and. Fuck. He just really doesn't need Bradley in his life at all, okay?

Unfortunately, nobody else seems to understand that and all Colin ever hears is phrases like "undeniable dynamic" and "you can't fake chemistry like that" and he knows he's fucked. He's stuck with this bloody force of nature whether he likes it or not.

So he gives in and softens a little, laughs at Bradley's jokes and doesn't flinch when Bradley pulls him in to hug him, or squeeze his shoulder, or whatever daily attempt he decides to make at breaching Colin's personal bubble.

Bradley is a safe option for a crush, really, because he's completely and utterly unattainable. He's straight and a co-star, so Colin would never even conceive of going there, even if he wanted to, which he most certainly does not.

When he's pressed up against the side of a toilet cubicle, pants around his ankles and a voice in his ear telling him to "Take it all, yeah, come on," he can almost convince himself that it's a coincidence that the guy who's fucking him is blond, too. When Colin comes, he bites the inside of his cheek, because he's scared to death of what he might say if he allowed himself to.

Afterwards, he goes back to the hotel to shower, his muscles aching with fatigue. He has a bruise on his neck, which, fuck, he asked the guy not to mark him anywhere visible, but he must've gotten carried away. Make-up is going to love him in the morning. Thank God for neckerchiefs.

His phone vibrates, and there's a text from Bradley:

 _bored. can't sleep. movie night my room?_

Colin thinks that Bradley may just be psychic, because how in the hell did he know Colin was awake too? He shouldn't go. Should just go to sleep and not spend any more time in Bradley's company than he absolutely needs to. But it's too hard to resist him. It's exhausting.

He throws on his worn Death Cab t-shirt and a pair of jogger bottoms and texts back:

 _okay. but no bloody Dirty Dancing this time, you ponce_

***

Bradley fucking James is an arsehole. Because Dirty Dancing would have been preferable to an entire night of queer-themed movies, which, and he's not even remotely paranoid, has obviously been cleverly designed to force Colin out of the closet.

Colin takes one look at the selection of Brokeback Mountain, Were The World Mine, and sodding Beautiful Thing and groans, "I need booze."

"There's tequila," Bradley says, passing an only very slightly opened bottle over, "but no glasses."

"I don't need glasses." Colin takes a huge gulp straight from the bottle, and grimaces, it tastes fucking foul. Bradley apparently still hasn't worked out that he doesn't need to buy the cheapest crap anymore. He can afford Patron, yet he's still buying eighteen quid bottles that taste like they were distilled in his own bathtub. Colin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and passes the bottle back.

Bradley clears his throat. "Well then. Uh. Movies?"

"If we must."

Bradley is looking at him with that expression that generally means he's studying Colin. Like he doesn't quite get him and that maybe staring at him for minutes on end will make something click in his brain.

Bradley's eyes are really fucking blue. Colin hates that he notices things like that, and he is suddenly, desperately wishing he'd ignored Bradley's text, because the room feels incredibly hot and constricting.

"Are you homophobic?" Bradley says, very slow and careful, like even saying the word means he's giving it some weight that he shouldn't.

Colin splutters, "What! Uh, where the fuck would you get that idea from, you nonce? Can you not ever mention that in front of Richard? Because it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, James, and trust me, that's saying something."

He isn't homophobic. He isn't. He's never had a problem with anyone else being. That.

"Well good." Bradley passes the bottle back to him. "Because that would suck. If you were."

Bradley is getting drunk. Colin can tell, because his words come out over-enunciated and slurred, and with much less animation than usual. He's also, if possible, crowding into Colin's personal space even more, and Colin can feel Bradley's body heat through their clothes. It feels all too familiar, memories of alcohol and nervous, eager fumbling on his best friend's living room floor and nights and days that followed with the two of them so close that it felt like they were breathing the same breath.

This is exactly what Colin had been afraid of, and he can't let himself want like that again. Not here, not now, and especially not with Bradley, who is completely and utterly off-limits. But he does, oh he does.

"Who did that?" Bradley breathes into the side of Colin's neck, and Colin feels fingers press into the bruise there, hard. It hurts, but that good kind of hurt where it just settles in your belly and makes you ache.

"N. No-one," he manages to get out.

"I don't like it when they mark you," Bradley says, and Colin can't help the sharp inhale that he makes. Bradley's fingers are still there, and they feel like a brand on Colin's skin. "It'd be better if it was me."

Colin feels his stomach completely bottom out. He's panicking, heart pounding, and his palms are clammy. He needs to get away, right the fuck now, because Bradley _knows_. He knows, and Colin can't think about anything other than that.

It's just as well Bradley promptly falls asleep on him seconds later.

***

He doesn't see Bradley the next day, Arthur's not needed, and Colin couldn't be more grateful for his insane shooting schedule. It gives him a chance to focus on work while he has a day devoid of Bradley's crooked-teethed smile, hands and knowing eyes that have somehow picked up on the fact that Colin spends his nights getting off with strangers.

He'd hoped for at least a couple of days reprieve, but as bad luck would have it, it's Tony's birthday, so instead of hiding from the world, or more accurately, Bradley, he's stuck sitting opposite him at a very civilised sit-down dinner. He eats his Vegetable Rendang and sips his Merlot and tries very, very hard not to look at Bradley, though he can feel his eyes on him and it makes his face flush red.

"What is going on with you and Bradley," Angel hisses at him, "it's making everyone very uncomfortable."

"Nothing," Colin says, abruptly. "Nothing's wrong. Just had a rough night and we're both tired."

"Riiiight." She sounds about as unconvinced as he would've expected. Considering he's spent his whole life lying to himself, his parents and... well, everyone, Colin is really appalling at it.

"Excuse me," he says to no-one in particular and heads for the Gents.

He splashes his face with cold water; the shock of the cool against the heat of his skin makes him shiver. He stares at himself in the mirror and whispers, "Pull yourself together, Morgan," before he grabs a handful of paper towels and wipes his face and neck dry.

"Talking to yourself in the mirror, Cols, that must be at least the second sign of madness."

Colin doesn't even look at Bradley, just wipes his hands on his jeans and sighs.

"What do you want?" Colin asks, and he sounds so tired, so drained, even to himself. He's so sick of this, this push-pull between want him and can't have him and this ridiculous persona that he's had for half his life and it's just. It's too much. He's so exhausted from pretending.

He can feel Bradley's hand reach out and turn him around and he looks then. Bradley's face is much more serious than he's ever seen it and it shocks him a little, no laugh lines or wide smiles, just an earnest expression and a strong, strong hand gripping his arm.

"You know what I want," Bradley half-whispers. "I want you to be honest with me and tell me you want it too."

"You're straight," Colin says, harsh and abrupt and Bradley grins, which was not really the intention, but okay.

"I," Bradley starts, and he reaches out, touches Colin's mouth with his hand, "am as straight as you are. Which is to say, not at all."

Colin's eyes flutter closed, and he feels Bradley move in even closer, pressing him against the hand basin.

"I. I don't kiss." It sounds half-hearted, pathetic.

"You're not Julia Roberts," Bradley laughs, his breath ghosting across Colin's jaw like a kiss all on its own, "and I'm sure as bloody hell not Richard Gere."

Colin opens his eyes then, and licks his lips, and it seems that that's the only invitation Bradley needs because his hands are in Colin's hair and his mouth is _right there_ and Colin is being kissed like Bradley is dying for it. It's so good, so unbelievably fucking good, and Colin can't help it, can't stop himself from kissing him back. It's hard and desperate, Bradley's tongue stroking over his, exploring his mouth, and Colin feels like he can't even breathe. It feels like he's being claimed and owned and fucked. Like this isn't a precursor, or foreplay, or anything other than the main event.

Colin thinks to himself that this is the first time he's kissed another man in years. It feels like coming home.

Bradley holds onto him with one hand in his hair, and the other drifts down to his hip, his thumb just hooked inside Colin's waistband. It's so close to his cock, but not close enough, and this all feels like the most delicious tease. Colin hasn't had this in years, the teasing, the need for long, drawn-out kisses and touching and it's so good he thinks he could get off from this alone.

"Want you," Bradley pants in between kisses. His breathing's laboured and his face is flushed, and it's such a fucking jolt to Colin's gut seeing him like this, turned-on and turned-out and wanting. Colin doesn't know how he waited so long for this.

"Tell me," he continues, "tell me, Col. Need to hear you say it."

Colin doesn't understand for a minute, doesn't know what Bradley wants to hear, and then he remembers the start of their conversation, which was only minutes ago. Feels like hours.

"Yes," he hisses, and he lets his hands slide down Bradley's back and grab his arse, pulling him in so he can feel just how hard Colin is for him. "I want you. I have for, for ages."

 _Forever_ he wants to say, but it's embarrassing and melodramatic, even though it's true.

"Then let's go," Bradley whispers against his neck, "because I am not doing this in a fucking bathroom with you like you did with them."

Them. The venom that Bradley pours into that word makes Colin's mouth go dry, but he nods and lets Bradley go.

***

It takes them around an hour to finish their meals, and say goodbye to everyone in a way that doesn't make it look like 'Okay, love you all but we really need to go shag now, bye!' It's taken Colin years to admit he's rather partial to cock to someone other than himself, and he really doesn't want to have to field awkward questions from his castmates just yet.

But he watches Bradley as he hugs the girls and Tony goodnight, and the burning want he feels settles in his chest, taking up residence there, and for once he doesn't feel the need to clamp it down and pretend it doesn't exist.

He doesn't look at Bradley once during the cab-ride to the hotel, and it's absolute fucking torture, but watching him and not being able to touch would be far, far worse.

It takes him several attempts to get the keycard in the lock, because Bradley is pressed in tight behind him, hot breath on his neck and that voice curling around his ear, saying, "There aren't enough hours in the day for what I want to do to you, Colin Morgan."

"Fuck," he mutters, finally getting the two of them inside and the door closed and he pushes Bradley up against it, getting his pants open and off while Bradley kicks off his shoes and pulls off his own shirt.

Colin is still fully clothed when he drops to his knees, but Bradley is naked and absolutely glorious.

"Been wanting to do this since I first fucking saw you," Colin says, not taking his eyes off Bradley as he licks, slow and lewd up the length of Bradley's cock.

"Christ." Bradley's head thuds against the door, and Colin grins as he rubs his thumb over the wet head and licks it, tasting sweat and pre-come and moaning around it before taking Bradley's thick, gorgeous cock into his mouth.

Colin loves this, always has, but this time it's different. It's Bradley and he's so fucking perfect and beautiful and it means something. He isn't on his knees in some dirty bathroom with some random bloke he doesn't know, doesn't care about. He wants to make this good, wants to see Bradley come apart under his mouth and hands, and he wants to wring all those delicious sounds that he's currently making from him: bitten-off moans and gasps and "Oh fuck, yeah" and it's intoxicating seeing Bradley like this.

He loves the feel of Bradley's cock in his mouth, hard and smooth and God, it tastes so fucking good that Colin just wants to do this for hours on end, pushing Bradley to the brink and then easing off so they can start all over again. He wants his throat to be raw with it, his jaw to ache, and he's so fucking turned on from sucking Bradley that he drops a hand to his own crotch and starts to rub.

"No," Bradley hisses, "that's mine."

Colin looks up and grins, grabs Bradley's hands and places them on his own head, and he hopes that it's clear what he's asking for, what he needs. Bradley smiles, wide and so open, and drives his hips forward, pushing his cock deep into Colin's mouth.

"Christ," he groans, "your mouth, Colin. Feels so good."

Bradley's breath is heavy and hitched and he's thrusting harder now, faster, and more erratic by the second. Colin knows it won't be long, and he watches intently, eyes on Bradley's face, desperate to see what he looks like when he falls apart.

He manages two more strokes, in and out, before he comes and he looks so beautiful: head thrown back, and his perfect red mouth dropping open and moaning and panting as Colin swallows every bitter drop of Bradley's orgasm.

"You. Oh my God, Col."

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and gets shakily to his feet.

"I could never get enough of watching you drink," Bradley pants, "you and that tequila bottle. Christ."

"Knew you were trying to force me out of the bloody closet with those fucking movies, you idiot." Colin rolls his eyes. "You're so fucking transparent, you know."

"Yeah, well so are you, Mr Catholic Guilt." Bradley pulls Colin in by the belt loops and kisses him, moaning into his mouth. "Thinking nobody noticed you were going out and copping off."

Colin feels his insides twist. He still can't even say the words "I'm Gay" and it feels like it's too much to even comprehend.

"You're thinking too much," Bradley says, kindly, his thumb tracing the line of Colin's cheekbone. "Stop thinking."

Memories of another time, another boy come rushing back, and Colin knows that he needs to stop trying to be someone he's not. He needs to be Colin Morgan and not some fictional representation of him. He nods and Bradley's smile is blinding. It makes his stomach fill with heat and Bradley turns him around, face-first to the door, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving his hand inside.

"Did you let them fuck you?" he whispers, and runs his fingers slow and barely touching down the length of Colin's cock.

"Sometimes." Colin half-breathes, his face pushed to the wall, moving his hips back and forth, trying to get more friction, but Bradley doesn't give an inch, just keeps trailing up and down the length, featherlight and so evil, and removes his hand completely. Colin groans with frustration. He thinks that he might die if Bradley doesn't get his. Oh. Fuck.

Bradley, the sneaky bastard, has somehow managed to coat his hand with lube in the few seconds in between, and his hand is wrapped around Colin's cock in a semi-closed fist. It's slippery and slick and perfect, and his strokes are as rough and slow and perfect as Colin was desperate for.

"Later," he whispers, his mouth pressed against Colin's back, "I'm going to make you forget they ever did. Going to open you up with my fingers and fuck you so slow and deep and perfect that you'll feel me for days."

The bad porn dialogue would be ridiculous coming from anyone else, but from Bradley? It's somehow sweet as well as dirty, and the hottest thing Colin's heard in his life. He comes with Bradley's hand on his cock and Bradley's voice curling low and dirty around him, and he wants to weep with how good it feels.

Later, Colin discovers that Bradley's singing is much worse in the shower than it is anywhere else. Everything about Bradley is intentionally loud and ridiculous and inappropriate and off-key, and Colin loves that about him more than anything.

Colin doesn't confess his sins any more. He has no need of absolution. He has Bradley.

 

the end

**Author's Note:**

> Written for i_know_its_0ver for the help_nz Quickfire round. Thanks to kerryblaze and nympha_alba for the beta help.


End file.
